


Filth

by Frankieteardrop, mitternacht



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankieteardrop/pseuds/Frankieteardrop, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternacht/pseuds/mitternacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alien punks. In space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Paul was huddled over a small electric stove unit in the corner of the room, stirring at the pot nervously. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to come across Earth potatoes this far out into the galaxy. He looked around for the salt he had smuggled from their last trip to the surface, which ended a lot more quickly than he’d have liked but he had gotten everything he needed anyways.

                He didn't want to mess this meal up; it could very well be the last batch of potatoes he would come across for the next few years. And Earth was hundreds of light years away from their current location, but it wasn’t as if they could get to the surface easily.

                He stuck a ladle into the mix and tasted it to check what was missing; something was. Another small taste.

                 _...sugar!_

                He grabbed excitedly for the sugar, nearly knocking it over as he did so. Once he had a firm grasp on it, he carefully added a small spoonful and stirred it in. One more taste and ...perfect.

                Almost as good as mom's.

                Schneider slinked into the room then, sniffing the air as he sank into a chair at the table. "Was ist es?"

                Paul turned around, a little startled at how quietly Schneider had snuck in. He kept forgetting he lived with bounty hunters that doubled as smugglers. "Make some noise next time!"

                He muttered an apology to Paul, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

                “Very good by the way,” Paul mumbled back. “Your German is getting almost as good as mine.”

                “Ah, danke,” Schneider said sheepishly.

                "It's borscht," he said, carefully making his way to the table with the hot bowl. Schneider raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the foreign word. "A stew. Uh, one from my home planet that I like. It's been a while since I've had any," Paul further explained. "Comfort food of sorts."

                 He dipped his spoon into the stew, blowing on the steaming broth before eating some. "Just as good as I remember," he said cheerfully, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

                 Schneider peered at the bowl curiously, it looked like white chunks floating around in soup. He would have said that it looked totally unappetizing but his stomach growled in disagreement.

                  Paul looked up from his bowl, spoon halfway to his mouth, then back at his spoon, before looking to Schneider. "Would you like to try it," he asked, although somewhat reluctant to share his food. It had been years since he’d had a decent bowl of borscht and ever since he had left Earth, it was next to impossible to find a suitable equivalent.

                   "I guess," Schneider said as Paul returned to the stove. He began ladling another bowl for himself, thought about it, and then began ladling another. He would run out of borscht quicker but he reasoned with himself that they could all share it; although he didn't want to. Like he really didn't want to.

                    "Flake," he called down the hall. "Come try this."

                     As he sat back down, Flake entered the room just as quietly as Schneider had. "What did you make," he asked, pushing his reflective lenses out of the way.

                     "Hell, I'm going to put a bell on you two if you don't stop sneaking up on me," Paul said, nearly dropping his spoon. "Sit. I made borscht for us."

                     "What is borscht," he asked, casting a confused look at the bowl Paul set in front of him. He looked to Schneider who was poking at the chunks in the stew.

                     "Paul says it’s a stew from his home planet," Schneider supplied helpfully.

                     Paul began slurping at the stew, looking satisfied with his creation. The other two shrugged at each other before following suit.

                     "Paul!" Schneider yelled, startling the smaller man for what felt like the twelfth time that day.

                     "What?!"

                     Schneider's face lit up as he pointed at the bowl. "This is very good! This reminds me of our home cuisine! Doesn't it Flake?"

                     They looked to Flake who was currently drinking the entire bowl down. He managed to get an affirmative sound out around a mouthful of potatoes.

                     "What did you call this Paul?"

                     "Borscht."

                     "Borscht," Schneider repeated. "I like borscht!"

                     "Good. Me too," Paul grinned before resuming his meal. He watched them for a moment, trying to hold back the laughter as Flake almost ate the bowl and spoon as he finished his soup, where as Schneider appeared to be taking his time, savoring each mouthful. Paul went back to his stew, groaning softly at the sweet-savory taste from the potatoes and broth. He missed normal earth food. He’d not really appreciated it before but he missed normal earth food. That seemed to be the case more and more often nowadays. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could live on this space junk.

                     “So tell us, Paul, why aren’t you on earth?” Schneider asked, putting his now empty bowl down “You never told us.”

                     “It’s not that important.” Paul answered, slurping loudly on his soup. He’d rather not thinking about the earth issue, but he knew they’d be dying to know sooner or later. It’s not every day you discover an earthling stow-away in your illegal hoard.

                     “Come on Paul. You’ve been with us now for three months. Tell us!”

                     “You need to tell me about why you guys can’t go home too then.” Paul demanded, feeling a little ganged-up on. He didn’t particularly want to talk about home. He wanted to try and forget home.

                     “If you tell me, I’ll tell you wear our secret supply of earth food is…” Flake offered, “Because there’s loads, but you’ll never find it.”

                     “It’s in the hold, at the very back, at the bottom, behind those guns that vaporize things…” Both Schneider and Flake stared at Paul in disbelief.

                     “Motherfucker.”

                     “Well then just tell us! We’ll tell you too!” Flake offered, putting his empty bowl on top of Schneider’s. Paul glared at them both, snatching up the empties and took them over to the sink.

                     “Fucking aliens, no concept of privacy. Always sneaking up on me, hiding the fucking potatoes.” Paul growls, looking around at them both staring at him expectantly. “Eugh for goodness sake. You really want to know? It’s really not that interesting!”

                      “We’ll decide that.” Flake said plainly. “Tell us! What happened to you on Earth and why are you so desperate for those potato things?”

                      “I mean have you really tasted them? You can do so many things with a potato! Boil it, bake it, add whatever you’d like, mash them, make them into pies-”

                      “Paul,” Schneider said, cutting him off to remind him of what they wanted to know.

                      “Fine.” Paul sighed in defeat, making his way to sit back at the table with them. There were groans coming from the hold next to the table, which Schneider kicked hard, accompanied by a loud shut up to keep the bounty quiet so they can hear the story they expected from Paul. “There was an explosion.” He started, “Several of them, actually, and we all had to get out and earth is inhospitable for human life now.” He concluded, “There, see. Not that interesting, is it.”

                      “No come on Paul, tell us properly. What really happened?” Flake pushed, and moved forward in his seat to appear more interested, chin in his hands, ready to listen.

                      “There’s no need to patronize me.” Paul smacked at Flakes arms, settling back, “Okay, the bombs being dropped were due to a water shortage… At least that’s what everyone thought. There had been a massive shortage of drinkable water on Earth because it had been poisoned by nuclear waste from one of the big power houses.” Paul began, “It was driving people crazy. Everything was rationed.” Paul explained, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. “I mean can you imagine having to live on rations of the one thing necessary to sustaining human life? It was pandemonium!” Paul stopped himself then, taking out a cigarette to attempt to calm his nerves.

                      He didn’t really want to discuss Earth; this wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right just now. In fact, he never wanted to discuss Earth ever again. There were too many painful memories for him back on Earth. He scrambled to leave as best he could but he couldn’t save anyone, which still weighed heavily on his conscience. He decided to withhold telling them the whole story for now. “Can we go back to discussing Borscht recipes?”

                      “No.” was the resounding response from both. He sighed and deigned to continue.

                      “Okay, so then there was an explosion, a big one; it knocked out most of Europe. I was working as a translator at the time for some shady businessmen who were dealing in nuclear arms anyway, so they may well have been partly responsible. I couldn’t figure out who was behind the whole operation but I knew they were going to murder me eventually. I knew too much to just be let go and I was starting to snoop around, trying to find out as much as I could.” He paused then, unsure of how to continue. If he said too much, they would get suspicious of him and possibly drop him on the next planet they arrived on. If he didn’t say enough, he risked them snooping around and trying to figure out who he had worked for.

                        That was, if they hadn’t searched for information on him already. The odds of him showing up in any Antarean databases were slim. If they ever came across records from Earth, he would barely be anything more than a blip on the radar. He pressed on with the story, doing his best not to reveal too much. “People were being evacuated and I wasn’t about to hang around and find out who was responsible for the bombs being dropped. I mean they dropped something like twelve H-bombs on Europe in the space of an hour, whoever it was; they went old school, like world war two old school. There was no warning. I was lucky to get out if I’m honest with you. So I snuck onto the ship to leave for wherever it was going. Anyway, we landed on Chaldene and I saw you guys looking shifty so hid myself there in your hold until you found me.” Paul explained.

                       The pair stared back at him once he’d finished.

                       “What’s world war two school?” Schneider asked, wondering what the all the random terminology Paul threw at them meant.

                       “World War two was the second war that involved pretty much the entire world, or at least the ‘superpowers’ of it at the time. Lots of destruction and genocide, my home country was one of the main ones involved,” he explained, not really wanting to get into any details. “Depending on what country you ask, they’ll have a different view but to give you an idea of how dated it was, they used an atomic bomb as the be-all, end-all.”

                       “You’re right, that wasn’t very interesting.” Schneider added, getting to his feet.  

                       “What is it with humans and always wanting to destroy everything?” Flake commented.  

                       “Not all humans are destructive, thank you.” Paul frowned back up at Flake, watching Schneider wander around the cabin for a moment, looking quite aimless.  

                       “Yeah right, not all humans… All you do is destroy stuff. Even your own home planet.” Flake commented, with a haughty snort of derision.

                       Paul clenched his teeth, clearly uncomfortable that Flake had made a joke of it. Goddamn aliens were so insensitive these days, careless unless it came to their own planet. From what he had seen of their bounty operation, the two were a ruthless combination and downright callous at times. He frowned then, not sure that the aliens quite understood the seriousness of the situation.    “Yeah, I mean, even you destroyed that potato so you could eat it.” Schneider laughed, looking back at the irritation on Paul’s face.

                       “Yeah,” he said, voice distant as he stood abruptly.

                       “Where are you going?”

                       “Back to my room,” Paul replied, voice tight as he turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

                       “What’s wrong,” Schneider questioned.

                       “I’m glad you find the fact that my home planet is falling to shit funny. But I don’t, thank you very much,” he said coolly, cutting his eyes at the others.

                       “Paul,” Flake began, sounding suddenly tired. “You know that’s not what we meant.”

                       “Sure you didn’t,” he scoffed. “I don’t know why I expected you two to understand anyways. Would you be happy if I made some sort of joke about your home? Wherever the hell it is?”

                       Flake and Schneider were silent.

                       “That’s what I thought,” Paul said. “Don’t expect me to be kind if you ever tell me about Antares or whatever.”

                       Clearly, this had struck a nerve with Schneider, his eyes had gone wide and he looked thoughtful as if reminiscing. “Alright, what do you want to know?” he conceded. “We’ll tell you whatever you want if it’ll take that sulky look off your face.”

                       “Fine.” Paul nodded, making his way back to the table. “Why can’t you go home? What happened?”

                       “We’ll tell you if you promise to make us more Borscht…” Flake added, shuffling a little closer to Paul.

                       “Whatever, why can’t you go home?”

                       “Well firstly, we’re criminals so that’s one thing.” Schneider stated quite proudly.

                      “No you’re a criminal. I am not.” Flake corrected “I merely acquire things that people need.”

                      “You’re wanted on fifteen counts of theft and four counts of aggravated assault and two counts of murder Flake. You’re a criminal.” Schneider put down, staring at Flake to challenge him.

                      “You know I didn’t commit those murders and the assaults were totally self defence. They came at me first.” Flake began to get a little defensive, his entire posture and body language changing.

                      “Alright, alright. I know. I’m just saying.” Schneider held up his hands in defence.

                      “So you can’t go home because you’re criminals?”

                      “Eh, there’s a little more to it than that. Like, treason and shit like that. But it doesn’t matter, right? We’ve got each other, brothers together drifting in space, why would we need to go home?” The room fell very silent then. Paul couldn’t bear to look at them.

                      Something terrible had clearly happened, and Paul needed to know otherwise it was going to eat at him.

                      “What happened?”

                      Neither of the two began speaking immediately, lost at where exactly they should start. “Antares is one of the older star systems in the galaxy,” Schneider began, looking at Flake for reassurance. “It’s kept to tradition pretty much since the beginning of time, we’ve got the oldest ruling family in existence I think.”

                      “And with the oldest family, comes some pros and some cons,” Flake added.

                      “Right. The pros; everything is pretty much stable aside from some of the more unsuccessful military coups. The cons; shit, uh everything. Ok I’m exaggerating-“

                      “Not much,” Flake interjected.

                      “Ok I’m not,” Schneider continued. “Lots of corruption and scandal went down on Antares for a long time, probably centuries worth. At one point, almost the entire planet was in poverty, it was really shitty for all of us. So Flake and I were fed up of the living conditions and the rule imposed by the government and we joined a resistance movement we found. We thought we were doing fine, working against the people in power and making progress. Turns out we were infiltrated and I want to say about half of the organization was actually government-controlled, all planted spies.”

                     Paul stiffened at the mention of government spies. He knew the planet Antares sounded familiar for some reason. He waited for the details of the story, worried about where it was headed.

                     “Fucking bastards,” Flake spat, kicking the cargo hold for good measure. “We were on the verge of uncovering some really important information, we had the connections and everything. So we retreated, took as many of us as we could and fled. We went into hiding on Antares for a short time but we had to leave home after that; they were looking for members of the resistance movement. Our faces were all over the news, patrols were hunting for all of us to make an example of us.”

                      “Of course, some of what we found got out, word spread and now there’s a lot more faith in the resistance movement. But that didn’t end well for everyone involved. They found some of us and publicly executed us.” Schneider got much quieter before he continued. “The rest of us, split up and left the Antares system altogether. Much easier that way. We were just being scapegoated at home, everything wrong with the system was being blamed on us. Flake and I didn’t want any more blood on our hands. So we drifted along until we came across this job. Now we just try to get by as best we can.”

                      “Shit.” Paul said finally, and there was a dark atmosphere falling on them now. Paul was unsure of whether he really wanted to know now, and regretted that he’d pushed them on the information further than he already knew. He couldn’t help but feel oddly guilty for listening even though he had no way of knowing what happened. He slowly shifted in his seat to stab out his cigarette, having mostly forgotten it as he’d been so intent on listening to their tale. It had been a little like a car crash; he hadn’t really wanted to know, but now he couldn’t help but want to know everything.

                     “Yeah, so we aren’t going back to Antares any time soon…” Schneider concluded, getting to his feet and he left the two alone.

                     “He’s very sensitive still. And I doubt it’ll get easier. He lost an awful lot when we fled.” Flake said quietly, leaning into Paul. “Home, friends, land… Everything. We’re outlaws now and there’s no going back. Chances are our family isn’t alive anymore. Guilty by association, even if there’s no proof of guilt.” Flake got to his feet, “I better go and see if he’s okay.” Flake offered a weird, weak sort of smile before patting Paul on the shoulder and leaving.

                      _He’s not the only one who lost something_ , Paul thought to himself sadly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angry punk cyborgs and their wonderful punk space partners in crime!

               Till rubbed at the tops of his arms once more and huddled down in the corner of the cell against the wall. They were in prison. Again. He looked over at Oliver who was fiddling with the plate in the top of his head, attempting to detach it.  
  
               “Will you stop playing with that thing?” Till growled, shuffling around so he was sat cross-legged on the floor. “It’s driving me fucking crazy. Stop it.”  
  
               “Something’s not right in there. I can’t understand what that alien in the cell next door is saying… I should be able to but I can’t. I’m pretty sure when they smashed my head on the way in they knocked a whole bunch of stuff out of place.” Oliver explained. He continued fiddling, attempting to remove the plate. “I can fix it myself. I just need to get this off of me. So how about you stop being a little bitch about it?”  
  
               “Stop. Stop, look,” Till sighed, climbing to his feet. “Let me, you’re getting it all messed up.”  
  
               “Don’t you dare fucking touch my head.” Oliver growled, staring up at Till. “No one touches my head but me.”  
  
               “Really? You’re going to pull that with me? Really?”  
  
               “It’s too easy to fuck up. Just leave it alone. I’ll fix it later.” Oliver settled. “I’m sort of picking up little bits so I don’t think it’s completely broken, just a little detached.” He explained.   
  
               “Fine.” Till yielded, holding his hands up before sitting back down against the wall. He watched Oliver for a while, just observing the cyborg for a moment, taking him in. They’d been working together for almost five years now and Oliver still didn’t trust him. Oliver didn’t much trust anyone, and rightly so. Till thought if he’d been through anything remotely similar to Oliver’s cyborg transformation them he’d never trust anyone ever again.   
  
               “He says he can hear someone shooting.” Oliver interrupted Till’s thoughts, a frown crossing his face as he craned his neck to better hear what was being said.  
  
               “I thought you didn’t understand them?”  
  
               “I’m catching bits and pieces… Shut the fuck up.” Oliver rose to his feet, moving closer to the bars, listening carefully. “There’s someone out there killing the guards. We might be in danger Till. I can hear the gun. Sounds small, maybe a handgun of some kind but there’s a silencer. Might be a little more advanced than that.”  
  
               “Scheiße. How can you tell?” Till rose to his feet, standing close behind Oliver, trying to see around the wall into the corridor as to what might be coming for them. Oliver offered him a look that questioned ‘ _really? How can I tell?’_  
  
               “They’re getting closer.” Oliver said quietly, before Till noticed that the other prisoners had retreated to the back of their cells. They weren’t interested in seeing who was doing the killing because they didn’t want to end up dead themselves. Before long, someone appeared at the far end of the corridor and everything living retreated out of sight except for Oliver and Till. The figure moved closer, walking at a leisurely pace down the corridor before stopping outside Oliver and Till’s cell. His jumpsuit was the darkest shade of black Oliver had ever seen, and it fit snuggly around his shoulders and biceps. He stood confidently in front of them. He looked human, but the ethereal shade of white his eyes took was far from normal. His silvery hair was pushed back out of his face, and it occurred to Oliver that possibly he’d taken some kind of human form, but his sensors weren’t working properly to work out where this alien had come from.   
  
               “Till Lindemann? Oliver Riedel?” Oliver instantly recognised that the other’s accent was not from a human language.   
  
               “What do you want?” Till chimed in, moving in front of Oliver, keeping him away. Oliver noticed Till clocking the different weapons the alien was carrying, and could almost hear the cogs turning in his head thinking of how the other two might escape from any kind of murder attempt or disarm the alien if need be. The alien began to speak, but it wasn’t in German, and it was _fast._ Till and Oliver both didn’t understand, and Oliver leaned in to try and catch what was being said. They stared blankly at the alien for a moment, “I don’t know what he’s saying…” Till said bluntly. “Is he going to kill us or not?”  
  
               “Shut the fuck up I can’t catch it.” Oliver pushed Till aside, leaning closer, “I can’t understand you.” Oliver said slowly, focusing on the alien’s mouth. The frustration the alien felt was obvious, as he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand before he repeated what he’d said slower.  
  
                 “Something about the resistance. We’ve got to go …with him?” He mouthed the words the alien said to himself, trying to process what he was trying to tell him. Oliver tried to reply in the alien’s native language but he was certain that he was off. The alien tilted his head curiously at Oliver, jutting his chin up as he leaned closer to the bars of their cell. Till pulled a knife from his boot, ready to kill the alien if he tried anything. He didn’t care much about being discreet though as he edged closer to them.  
  
               The alien stared at him for a moment longer, focusing his attention on the red light from Oliver’s robotic pupil. “Robot?” the alien asked quizzically.  
  
               Oliver nodded, wondering what the alien’s plans were. Perhaps he was going to break them out only to get his hands on the technology that was a part of him. He would die before he let someone else scavenge him for spare parts.   
  
               The alien stepped back and began explaining his situation somewhat frantically, gesturing wildly almost as if he were trying to act out what he was saying. Oliver watched him, attempting to translate at best as he could.  
  
               “Christoph Schneider and Flake Lorenz,” he repeated to Till. “Till …those names sound familiar? Those are guys from the resistance on Antares, aren’t they? I’m almost positive that’s them,” he said, turning back to the alien for confirmation. He repeated the names again, slower this time so Oliver would be able to understand it better.  
  
               Till watched the alien, not trusting him at all. Anyone could blow through a jail and claim to be a part of the resistance but that didn’t make it true. “They are,” he said begrudgingly through clenched teeth. The alien regarded him curiously before asking Oliver something.  
  
               “He wants to know if you’re feeling all right Till,” Oliver asked, looking at Till’s grimace. “What’s wrong?”  
  
               “I don’t trust him and with your translator practically offline, I don’t feel good about this,” Till said, his eyes not leaving the alien’s form.   
  
               “I understand but Till please, he’s our chance to get out of here,” Oliver pleaded.  
  
               “He could kill us,” Till insisted.  
  
               “Or we could kill him if he turns on us. We outnumber him,” Oliver quickly reasoned, trying to win Till over in the hopes of escaping before they were caught. They were both bigger than the alien and with Oliver’s mechanical enhancements, they stood a chance.   
  
               “What does he want with the resistance guys?”  
  
               “He’s been searching for them but I can’t tell what for. I’m not catching it.”  
  
               “Do you think he’s after the resistance fighters?” Till was wary of this alien; his motives were still unknown to the two. “Do you think he might want to kill them? Or he’s sent by someone involved in the cover-up?”  
  
               “It’s possible he’s after them but the way he just gunned down about half of the guards tells me he’s not with their government. He doesn’t look much like any Antarean I’ve ever fucking seen,” Oliver replied, pointing at the alien’s features. “I can try to ask if he has gills if that helps any?”  
  
               Till shook his head, deciding he would ready himself to attack if he had to. He stiffened his grip on his knife although it paled in comparison to the gun on the other side of the cell barrier. The alien stiffened, whipped his head to the side, and let off another blast from his gun. They heard the unmistakable thud of a body dropping to the ground. He spoke to Oliver in hurried, low tones hoping that they would pick up on the urgency in his tone.   
  
               “Let’s just fucking go with him,” Oliver said. They could overpower the alien if he tried to outsmart them and possibly take whatever means of transportation he had as well. Of course, they would be hunted down and probably charged with the murder of the guards at the prison anyways but that was something to worry about later.   
  
               “Are you sure? You said your translation chip wasn’t working?”  
  
               “I got the important bits. We need to go now. There’s more guards coming and I’m willing to bet that he’s fucking tripped some sort of alarm,” he said, jerking his head towards the alien. He was banging on the keypad with his fist impatiently, slamming it in the hopes it would give out. He had sufficiently dented it, retrieved his gun, and fired several rounds in quick succession. The door gave way with a wheeze, popping halfway off its hinges and the alien gave it a yank. He pulled it totally off and let it fall onto the ground between them.   
  
               Oliver took a deep breath and looked over at Till. “I need to get some fucking revenge.” Oliver grinned wide at Till, as the Alien produced two guns and held them out, one for each of them. “No.” Oliver said, “I need something more personal. I need a knife.”   
  
               Till stepped through first, knife at the ready in case either a guard or the alien attacked. The alien pulled two guns from his jacket. Oliver turned quickly and took one of the guns, offering it to Till.  
  
               “Give me the knife, Till. I need it.”  
  
               “Oliver, are you sure? I’m pretty handy, wouldn’t you prefer the firearm?”  
  
               Oliver sighed, taking the knife from Till and pushed the gun into his hand. “Take it. My arm isn’t fucking working well enough to control a gun anyway.” Oliver said, an eerie calm coming over his voice. This was something Till had grown used to. Oliver was, after all, programmed mainly to murder those who he was told to, but since he’d basically gone rouge, there was no escaping that cold heart that wanted revenge on those who’d messed up his body beyond recognition.  
  
               They stepped through the wreckage of the door and followed the alien down the hallway. Oliver’s auditory sensors were starting to malfunction, cutting out in increasingly sporadic episodes. “Stop,” he called, throwing an arm in front of Till and the alien. “I hear … three guards approaching,” he explained to Till. He held up three fingers to the alien knowing he wouldn’t be able to translate properly. Before either Till or the alien could reply, Oliver rushed down the hallway and sprinted around the corner into darkness. A sickeningly loud crunch could be heard followed by a cracking of bone. Two groans of pain were heard and then soft thuds gave way to silence.  
  
               The alien exchanged a glance with Till as Oliver returned, blood dripping from his knife and mechanical fist. Till was the first to speak; “I think you might want to wipe your hand off.”  
  
               Oliver glanced at his hand, spotting the chunk of flesh that was stuck on the knuckle joint of two of his fingers. “Oh, shit” he grimaced, smacking the metal against a wall to dislodge it. Till grimaced as he realized that Oliver had punched the guard hard enough to possibly collapse his face, but that was to be expected when working with someone as overpowered as the cyborg. “Thank you,” he said once his hand was clean enough.  
  
               The alien beckoned for them to head in the direction that Oliver had come from, having no problems manoeuvring through the dark. The other two followed, stepping around the now incapacitated guards. Till glanced down at them, finding that Oliver was extremely cruel yet efficient. Not that he had expected anything less, even after their time in the cell.   
  
               Sparks could be seen coming from the circuitry that ran along Oliver’s neck which was concerning for Till. From time to time, Oliver’s machinery would malfunction but not to the point where he was visibly breaking. “Oliver,” he called but the other man kept moving ahead. “Oliver,” he said again, this time louder. Still no reply. He reached a hand out and Oliver whirled around, knife at the ready. Once he saw that it was Till, his grip relaxed and he lowered the knife.  
  
               “What is it?”  
  
               “Oliver, your neck looks strange,” he said, pointing to the sallow appearance of the skin. It looked like some sort of radiation poisoning or possibly his skin was wearing down.  
  
               “What?” Oliver asked, wondering why Till wasn’t speaking. He watched Till mouthing words and pointing at him but was baffled as to why he wouldn’t just speak up.  
  
               The alien stopped as well, wanting to see what the hold up was. Till’s voice was frantic, pleading with Oliver. The alien reached to Oliver’s neck only to have his hand slapped away by Till. “Don’t you fucking touch him,” he snarled at the alien, levelling the barrel of the gun at him.  
  
               “Stop,” Oliver said, throwing his arms up to separate the two. “Stop,” he repeated, louder this time. His hands flew to his throat as he spoke again. “Stop.” He could feel the vibrations of his throat but he couldn’t hear himself speak. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t hear _anything_. “No, no, no, fuck, shit!” he cursed, slamming his fist against the wall of the corridor.  
  
               The alien spoke quickly, words running together as he tried to tell Till that they needed to keep moving. Oliver looked fearful, his eyes wide as he realized that his translating and his hearing were both entirely offline. Once the alien realized that Oliver could no longer hear him, he grabbed Oliver’s arm and took off running. He yelled something to Till which was probably something to the effect of ‘Keep up!’  
  
               The alien let go shortly after, rounding the corner straight into another guard. The guard tried to lift his gun but the alien was faster, placing his palm flat against his head. The guard froze and let out a wail of agony, face turning red as his screams grew louder. Oliver was thankful his hearing wasn’t functional because the screams turned to shrieks. Till had to back away and cover his ears in an attempt to block out the sound. The alien’s silver eyes never left the guard’s as the guard dropped to his knees. Finally, he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, blood leaking from his mouth and his ears. The alien kicked at the now dead guard for good measure before stepping over him and continuing on his way.   
  
               “What the fuck did he just do?” Till asked Oliver, then remembered that the cyborg could no longer hear him. He looked at the dead guard for a moment longer before running to catch up with the others.   
  
               A group of five guards advanced on them, Oliver moving immediately to snap one’s neck. The alien proceeded to kill two in the same manner he had a minute prior. Till sidestepped one of the bodies, ending up behind him and using him as a human shield. The guard shot his fellow officer, unable to stop his instinctive reaction. Till took advantage of his momentary shock and shot him several times, effectively dropping him. While they were disposing of the guard, a sixth officer snuck out of the darkness and sliced at Oliver’s legs and stomach viciously. Oliver let out a howl of pain, trying to drag the other man down with him. He plunged the knife into the officer’s ribs and chest, punctuated with furious shouts. The other two noticed and once they were sure their respective guards were taken out, they rushed to Oliver’s assistance. They hoisted him up over their shoulders, trying their best to support him. Whatever equipment he had been outfitted with was obscenely heavy and most likely designed to slow him down.  
  
               “Till!” he shouted desperately. “I can’t feel my fucking legs Till.” Oliver was beginning to panic; his mind was reeling. His hearing was out, translation broken, and now his legs were sliced to the point where they were non-operational. “Don’t fucking leave me here, I swear I can be fixed,” he pleaded, eyes frantically searching the surroundings for something to patch him up temporarily. He clawed at the wall’s paneling, hoping to find something beneath the surface to tie the cables back together. The paneling barely gave way to his erratic fumbling before Till dragged him backwards.  
  
               “Oliver calm down, we aren’t going to leave you,” he reassured the man-machine even though he knew that Oliver couldn’t hear him. “We can’t stop now, come on,” he said, taking a hold of Oliver again. The alien was much stronger than he seemed, easily adjusting to the weight around his shoulders. Suddenly, the alien aimed his handgun at the end of the corridor and blasted at the air. A figure materialized, sinking to its knees. “How the fuck did you see that?” Till asked incredulously. The alien turned his head and smirked as if he could understand what Till said, and tapped below his eye socket.   
  
               As they approached the figure lying on the ground, the alien reached his hand out to them, slightly shrugging out from beneath Oliver. The person convulsed beneath his touch and let out one final yell of agony. Something that sounded like a swear came from the alien, then he smashed his fist against the wall once he finished with the human on the ground. The wall creaked beneath his fist, sliding open to reveal that it was actually a door. He slipped through the opening first, leaving Till and Oliver for a few moments.  
  
               “He’s not leaving us here is he?” Oliver asked, panic tinging his tone. He scrubbed as his eyes, trying to rid them of the burning sensation that had set in. “This is fucking awful,” he sighed, letting himself slide out of Till’s grip to the floor. “I’ve got to fix myself as soon as possible.” He was trying to hold it together as best he could with what was still working. He was quickly becoming a hindrance as opposed to an asset. The alien could have decided that all the commotion wasn’t worth is for a broken robot and one human.   
  
               Till looked down at him with pity, he couldn’t imagine losing his senses one by one. Whatever they had outfitted him with in this prison clearly wasn’t meant to last. He had put up enough of a fight to keep them away from the inner machinations of his brain but given a month or so, he probably would have lost that too. The scientists in the facility weren’t educated enough to work with such sophisticated technology, lucky for him. Although the next challenge would be keeping Oliver sane enough to find the parts he needed to replace.  
  
               The alien returned after a few minutes that seemed entirely too long, helping Oliver off the ground again. He slid through the opening carefully, making sure not to hurt Oliver or move him around too much. Till followed closely after, having to pry the doors open a little further for himself. They headed down one empty corridor after another before the alien finally found what he was looking for. He mumbled something before passing Oliver off to Till. He strode to the keypad, punching in a number sequence and the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. Oliver realised his hearing had come back online as he heard their frantic footsteps down to the escape pod.  
  
               Clearly the alien thought ahead because he was jogging over to a sleek spaceship parked not too far away. Till carried Oliver over as best he could as the alien set to checking over his ship. Oliver shouted as they clambered inside, hands flying to his ears. “Fuck, my hearing’s functioning again,” he said, cringing at the sound of the engine.   
  
               Till held Oliver’s arm over his shoulder, carrying him onto their escape vessel, dropping his friend down into the nearest chair before setting to strapping him in.  
  
               “They cut the fucking connections in the back of my knee, those dicks!” Oliver cursed, slapping Till’s hands away as the restraints dug into a large gash along his hip. “For fuck sake Till I can do it. Go and get to driving. Is the Cancari with us?”  
  
               “So you worked out where he’s from then?” Till said calmly, pushing Oliver’s fumbling fingers away from the belts to finish setting them. “He’s up front getting ready for take off by the looks of it.”  
  
               “It was in the way he was killing those guards. I’ve only ever seen it once before but it’s fucking vicious. They basically boil the victim’s brains inside their heads. Benefits of being from a hot plan-… Fuck! Till, can you fucking stop it?!”  
  
               “First of all, that’s gross. Secondly, I’m trying to use the belt to slow the bleeding in your hip, you fucking idiot. Sit still and put pressure on it. I’d rather you didn’t bleed to death and leave me with an alien who can boil brains with his hand, eh?”  
  
               “Fine.” Oliver conceded, settling back in his chair. He groaned softly, doing as he was told. “But when we’re at a safe distance from this shit heap I want you to put pressure on my hip so I can sort out this fucking translation chip.”  
  
               “I told you,” Till frowned, looking over at him from his own seat near the control panel. “I can do it for you.”  
  
               “You’re not tou-…”  
  
               “I know, I know, I’m not allowed inside your head. Fine. We’ll sort it shortly, now shut up, I’m trying to fly a spaceship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, concerns and critiques are always welcomed here, or on tumblr. We love hearing your responses!


	3. Chapter 3

               Oliver slowly woke, feeling weak with a pain radiating from his left side. He tried to sit himself up and when he opened his eyes to focus, he found they were on a completely different ship.  
  
_Oh no, I’ve fucked up._ He thought to himself beginning to panic, as he couldn’t move himself from the seat he was in. He couldn’t get up as his leg was still badly damaged and his head felt a little fuzzy from blood loss. “Till?” he called out, “Where are you?”  
  
               There was no immediate reply, and that sent fear down into the pit of his stomach. He’d been fooled by the Cancari, “Till?!” he shouted again, more urgently this time, attempting to sit himself up straighter to get a better view of what was happening around the room he was in. The ship was dark, and cold, and there was a faint smell of something oddly familiar to him. The scent took him straight back to his childhood, but he shook it off, reminding himself that this was no time for nostalgia. As he was about to call again, Till appeared from around a corner, being followed by another person, much shorter, almost dwarfed by Till.  
  
               He only focused on the figure for a brief second before a sharp pain stung at his eyes and then his world went dark.

                 “You’re awake!” Said Till, moving towards Oliver to help him sit more comfortably. Oliver held his hands up defensively, not wanting to be touched for fear that they’d do something terrible to him. “Till, I … I can’t …” he trailed off, voice quiet.  
  
               “Can’t what?” another voice asked quizzically.  
  
               “Who is that?” the panic began to set in good and proper, and Oliver felt frenzied.  
  
               “This is Paul Landers, human and former resident of our home.”  
  
               “Another earthling?”  
  
               “Another German, my friend!” Till said cheerily, looking down into the large mug in his hand, “Look! He made Borscht!”  
  
               “That’s Russian.” Oliver corrected, unable to see whatever Till was talking about, feeling the frustration growing. He reached up to feel the top of his head, checking that no one had been fiddling around inside it while he was unconscious.  
  
               “My family lived there when I was a child. It’s a home favourite.” Paul spoke, smiling warmly towards Oliver as he held out another large mug of the stuff. There was something warm about this person’s voice, and it made Oliver feel a little bit more secure. But he couldn’t shake the anxiety that something terrible was about to happen. “Seeing as this ship appears to have a secret stash of potatoes, I thought I’d make some more, especially the state you’re in.”  
  
               Oliver made no attempts to take the borscht from the stranger, mostly because he couldn’t see where it was, but also because he didn’t trust this man yet. As far as he was concerned, this new human could have been the reason that his vision was failing, but it could also be that his technology was terrible and breaking. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to stimulate the nerves and cables in them in the hopes that the nerves would catch.  
  
               Paul’s eyes scanned Oliver’s injuries critically. “How much of you is actually human?”   
  
               “None of your fucking business. And I don’t want any of your fucking borscht. Where the fuck are we?” He growled, becoming agitated with his inability to move and see.    
  
               “Well, we’re on their ship. Richard found them quite easily and spoke to Paul, who speaks several languages, and we were okay. No need to be so rude to our hosts, Oliver.” And from the tone of Till’s voice, it became abundantly clear that Till didn’t wholly trust these guys either.  
  
               “Who the fuck is Richard? Is this something to do with the resistance? Is the ship’s tracker scrambling to keep us hidden because it’s messing with my head?” Oliver said as he clawed at the top of his head, willing the pain to stop.  
  
               “It is. I can stop that pain in your head if you need me to…?” Paul looked apprehensive as he told the two humans this news. He took the look on Oliver’s face as the answer he needed. He put the mug of soupy vegetables down on the nearest table and began to walk away.  
  
               “What the fuck are we doing here, Till?” Oliver said quietly once he is quite sure Paul was out of earshot.  
  
               “Well look who’s changed their tune.” Till frowned, “Richard is the alien who picked us up. I told you we shouldn’t have trusted him but you said you knew the two he’d mentioned and therefore we just _had_ to go with them. Well, Oliver, here we are. I’ve yet to see Christoph Schneider and Flake Lorenz and the only one I’ve met is the fucking hobbit called Paul.” Till’s voice was hardly quiet, but Oliver couldn’t sense anyone’s presence near by, even if his sensors were breaking, they’d pick up someone who could hear their discussion.  
  
               “Well, what do we do then? Have you eaten any of that stuff he gave you? Is it poisoned?”  
  
               “I’ve not, but he did a nice job sewing up your hip. And he reckons he can fix that leg. He seems to know a lot about cyborgs for a business translator.”  
  
               "You've let him put his hands on me?" Oliver was floored, feeling a wave of disgust wash over him. Leave it to Till to get comfortable around the first human they found outside of the prison. He hadn't taken kindly to Richard but aliens were a different matter entirely. "How do you know he hasn't slipped some sort of monitor or tracker into me when he sewed me up?"  
  
               "I was there the whole time Oliver, I'm not stupid. He didn’t want to touch you because he didn’t want to fuck anything up. I told him you were going to be more agreeable to this while asleep than awake. I promise, I watched the whole time. He kept telling me how it felt wrong that you were out cold. I told him you’d be ripping his face off if you were awake." he growled through his teeth.  
  
               Before Oliver could reply, he heard footsteps coming down one of the halls towards them. He quickly took inventory of his hip, feeling the neat stitch-work along the skin, the bleeding having stopped and the irritation having gone down, leaving only a neat little line of scab along the protruding bones. He heard three distant voices, not in the room he was stuck in, but somewhere away from them, talking in hushed tones.  It wasn't their language, by any stretch of the imagination, but they were speaking quickly.  He could hear Paul's voice, but two other voices he didn't recognise.  Did Paul speak more than one language?  
  
               Oliver reached out his hand, aimlessly reaching for Till, trying to ground himself. “Is that them? Till? I can’t fucking see? Who’s in here?”  
  
               Till took one look down at Oliver and concern began to build anxiety in him. “What do you mean you can’t see?” he said in a hushed tone, taking hold of Oliver’s hand. “I don’t know who they are. Both tall, one’s blonde with glasses, very thin, the other’s got dark hair, crew cut, looks like he could handle himself.” Till commented. “Do I need to hit you to bring your sight back?”  
  
               “No, don’t be so fucking stupid.” Oliver growled, rubbing at his eye, groaning as the burning only seemed to increase.  
  
               “Till, Oliver. This is Flake Lorenz and Christoph Schneider.” Paul introduced. “You’ve already met Richard, he's elsewhere at the moment communicating with him, we assume. Admittedly this is the first time we’ve met him too, but we're having a spot of trouble speaking with him...” Paul explained.  
  
               "It’s nice to mee-…”

               “They don’t speak any German.” Paul interrupted Oliver. “Unfortunately, Schneider and Flake only speak Antarean, and Richard only speaks Cancarii, which I don't speak. We were hoping you’d also be able to translate for us, but it seems your translator chip has broken.”  
  
               “H-how? How do you know that?” Oliver asked, feeling a little terrified now as he reached back to feel at the back of his head.

               “I speak the odd word of Cancarii, Till told me you were only picking up little bits of Richard’s speech, probably something to do with the knocks I’m sure those guards gave you.” Paul explained, he then began speaking very quickly in a language that Oliver couldn’t pick up, his grip tightened on Till’s hand.  
  
               “Who is he talking to?” Oliver whispered, pulling Till a little closer to him. He felt incredibly unsafe right now, and he was in a lot of pain.  
  
               “The Antareans. I don’t know what they’re talking about though. They keep looking at you…”  
  
               “Don’t let them fucking touch me Till I swear to God.”  
  
               “I won’t, I won’t… Stop panicking, Oliver… Okay?” Till’s voice took on an eerily soothing tone as he gently squeezed Oliver’s hand.  
  
               “Flake says he has some spare parts he stole that’ll help to fix you up Oliver, But we’ll need to make a stop somewhere to pick up the other parts you’ll need.” Paul explained. “He said he’s got them down in the hold and will go and search for them shortly. I can help fix you up!” he said cheerfully.  
  
               “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” Oliver growled, his grip tightening still on Till’s hand. He had to stop himself when he began to hear Till’s knuckles cracking under the pressure, and let go swiftly. “Sorry. No, just… Please. Let me sort myself out.”  
  
               “How the fuck are you going to do that, Oliver?” Till asked, and the tone suggested Till thought Oliver was an idiot for not accepting help.  
  
               “I can fucking do it myself! Shut up.”  
  
               “Okay!” Paul said, “Well give us a list of the parts you need and we’ll see what we can do.”  
  
               Oliver heard footsteps leaving the room, but felt Till’s hand on his shoulder, so he wasn’t completely alone. “Till what parts do I need? I can’t see anything.”  
  
               “A new eye then?” Paul’s voice rang clearly, and there was an air of amusement in his tone, which only served to make Oliver angrier than he already was.  
  
               “We need to put a fucking bell on this one.” Oliver growled, his hands running down to his knee, feeling at the gash in the back and the exposed wires. “All of these cables need replacing. The main nerve cable has been sliced right through, and I think the whole section needs to be taken out and replaced, there’s no way it can just be just soldered back together.” Oliver said. “A couple of the communication wires are gone too, but they can be stitched up until later.” He sighed softly. He could hear Paul scribbling down what he was saying on a piece of paper, and became aware that he needed to know what was going on inside his head.  
  
                 “Till,” He sighed, feeling a modicum of defeat, “Can you look, and I mean look and not touch, in the back of my head and see what needs to be fixed and replaced please?”  
  
                 “Sure, just, hold still a minute.”  
  
                 He sat still, feeling terrible as Till removed the panel from the back of his head. He could feel Till’s breath on the back of his neck, which meant he was really looking in deep.  
  
                 “Apart from the translation chip everything looks okay. I mean I can push the chip back in for now until we get a more permanent fix?” he offered.  
  
               “No. no. No It’s okay, no.” Oliver said, his hands moving up to feel inside his head, feeling the dislodged chip. “Leave it. I can do it.” He gently pushed against it, hoping it would clip back into place until a better chip was installed.   
  
               All he felt was it clattering into the wires near his neck.  
  
               “I could have done that for you…” Till said softly,  
  
               “Shut the fuck up.” Oliver found the chip, and picked it up, running his fingers over it. “Shit.”  
  
               “You’re really broken.” Till added, making nothing feel any better.  
  
                "Okay, I’ve got the list, I’ll see what I can do.” Paul said, before turning and walking away from them to the hold. Oliver looks around blindly, turning his head from left to right, up and down. “Till I can’t see…” He said calmly this time, trying his hardest not to panic. “How am I going to be able to fix myself?”   
  
                “You can’t” Till said plainly, “Either you let me do a shitty job of it or you allow Paul to have a go and it'll be done properly?”  
  
                  “I can’t trust him. We don’t even know him! What if…” He stops, groaning, “Nevermind! Look, can you do my eye?”  
  
                  “I’m not touching that. I’m not fiddling around with something so delicate. You know I’ll break it.” Till said, and Oliver felt the table he was on shift, signaling that Till had perched himself on the edge of it. “You’re going to have to ask him. I can’t do it Oliver; I’m not trained in that shit. Plus you’ve seen my hands. They aren’t delicate enough. He’s got nice nimble fingers, he could do it for you!”  
  
                  “Yet you can take a Kalashnikov apart and put it back together again in under two minutes.” Oliver sighed. “Fine. But if I go rogue this is on you.”  
  
                  They heard footsteps coming towards them, and they sounded labored as Paul clambered around a corner carrying all manner of machinery. “He’s here.” Till said quietly, “You’ve got to let him do most of it, I can’t and neither can you so you’ve got to let him help you. I’ll stay here, okay?” He reassured Oliver, and he heard Paul putting the heavy box down full of spare parts.  
  
                  “Okay,” Paul said, taking a seat next to Oliver’s leg. “Are you ready? I’m going to start at the bottom, on your leg to get you mobile first, okay?” he said calmly. He waited for Oliver to nod, giving him the go ahead. “I’ll talk you though every step, okay? No unexplained movements or anything.” He felt the other pop the panel on his leg and begin to look inside at the cables. He felt Till’s hand clamp down on his shoulder, letting him know he was still there watching.  
  
               "It’s alright, Till… I’m not going to do anything to hurt him, you know? What good would that do us if he went rogue and murdered us all?” his voice sounded so calm in the face of two very violent men, “Although it’d be fun to see what’d happen if we reset his hard drive and turn him into a killing machine, huh?” he snorted, and Oliver felt him pulling a large nerve cable out of his leg.  
  
                 “Don’t even joke about it.” Oliver said coldly before calmly asking, “Do you have a new eye in your mix? I just want to be able to see…”  
  
                  “You really can’t see?” Paul asked, his tone horrified. “What do you mean? I thought you meant just out of the bionic eye? You mean both eyes are gone?”  
  
                  “My vision … is offline. Just tell me you have a spare eye?”  
  
                  “Yes! It just needs to be hooked up. Can you wait or would you like me to do that now?” Paul asked, and Oliver heard him hunting around inside the box of parts for something.  
  
                  “No. No I can do it.” Oliver frowned.  
  
                  “You can’t see. How are you going to do this?” Till snorted, and the sound of Till’s chair creaking alerted Oliver that he’d sat down in an actual chair rather than on the edge of his work bench.  
  
                  “Fuck you Till, just give me the fucking eye.” He held out his hand expecting the new eye to be put into his hand.  
  
                  “Are you sure?” Paul asked, “This is the only one we have, I mean not to presume you won’t break it but just in case. You don’t want to be blind for the foreseeable future, right?”  
  
                  “Look, I’m going to grab something to eat. You two are fine here.” Till announced, patting Oliver on the shoulder. “You want anything Olli?”  
  
                  “Other than my sight back? No. And I can wait. I’d just rather be able to see what you’re going to do to me.”  
  
                  Paul sighed, and gently placed a small, metallic ball into Oliver’s hand. He held it in his fingers for a moment, feeling the smooth, cold metal casing of the new bionic eye. “I should be able to just slot this straight in and it’ll work, right? They’re all programmed the same?” He asked.  
  
                 “As far as I’m aware, yes? But if not I might need to configure something inside your head.” Paul explained, moving to look inside the panels at the back of Oliver’s leg. As he began peeling back the skin covering the wires, Oliver smacked his hand away. Paul simply looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. “Really?” he frowned. “You can’t see and yet you still want to try and fix your own fucking leg.”  
  
                  “It’s a habit, sorry. I’d just like to be able to see first. And I don’t like other’s working on me. Not since what they did.”  
  
                  Paul shifted closer to Oliver, trying to get a better view of his eyes. He noted that one of Oliver’s eyes still appeared to be his own while the other was flickering dimly. His human eye was an odd sort of hazel color, though it had taken on more a reflective tint possibly from the circuity inside his head. They were sort of pretty in an odd way. Interesting to look at to say the least. He examined it closely before saying, “Are both your eyes artificial?”  
  
                  Oliver flinched, not expecting the smaller man to be so close to him, but there was something oddly welcoming about the closeness between the two, a kind of weird affection that Oliver hadn’t felt in a very long time, like a workman taking pride in his creation. “No,” he hissed through his teeth. “The left is artificial, the right is mine so you know before you try anything.”  
  
                  “But when the implant goes out, your own eye does too?” Paul asked, a bit confused as to how the inner workings of Oliver’s head operated.  
  
                  “Essentially, yes,” Oliver answered reluctantly.  
  
                  “So I’m to assume it’s something internal, which means I would have to … get in there,” Paul said, careful of how he phrased his words. His first choice of words was ‘pry open your head’, but he figured that might have been a little too insensitive.  
  
                  Oliver visibly tensed and leaned away further. “It’s in the back,” he sighed, reluctantly allowing Paul to look as he turned his head.  
  
                  Paul noticed a fracture on the back of Oliver’s head and audibly gasped.  
  
                  “What is it?”  
  
                  “Your head …is cracked.”  
  
                  His hand flew to his scalp, fingers running over the break. “Well fuck, have you got some sort of blow torch on board?”  
  
                  “Of course we do, what kind of- are you suggesting that you’re going to take a torch to your head,” Paul asked in horror.  
  
                  “Yes? If I get it hot enough then I can sort of weld it back,” Oliver explained.   
  
                 “You’re serious?”   
  
                 Oliver’s eyes searched the room blankly, falling on Paul. He was one hundred percent serious. “After I replace my eye, I can use the torch and seal it up.”  
  
                  Paul frowned at Oliver, still trying to get a better look at it. “Why would you torch your head,” he murmured more to himself. He rummaged through the spare parts he had, searching for something suitable to replace the plate. Paul retrieved spare coverings, running his fingers over Perspex and metal casings. He pulled out one big enough to cover the cracked plating, sizing it up. “Would you mind if I replaced it with something maybe a little stronger,” he asked cautiously, holding up a Perspex plate. “I think this might be a little more convenient. And hopefully, durable.” He held it out to Oliver for him to inspect.  
  
                  “Okay, go ahead. Replace the eye first.” Oliver said, and Paul’s chair creaked so Oliver knew he’d sat back away from him. Oliver began the slow process of blindly removing the bionic eye from its socket and held it out for Paul to take from him, which he did. He wiped his hands on his trousers to remove any dust and slowly, carefully pushed the new eye into place.  
  
                  “I hope this fixes the motherboard too and makes the other eye work.” Oliver explained, letting out a satisfied sigh as the new eye clicked perfectly into place. He felt the computer begin to whir inside his head before seeing it begin to start up. The loose connection in his eye had frozen the main computer in his head and forced him to lose his eyesight altogether in order to prioritize power. It wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, but being that he had previously gone deaf, being blind also made him feel a little more than a useless heap of junk. After a few moments, light burst through the lens, and caused Oliver to reel back, covering his eyes, groaning at the bright flash.  
  
                  “Yeah, new one kicking in good now. Give it a few minutes before opening your eyes again.” Paul said softly, going back to Oliver’s leg. “It’ll take about five minutes to reboot, so don’t be surprised if you switch off completely for a moment, okay?”  
  
                  “Wait, switch off comple-…” 

* * *

  
                 When Oliver came to, it was quiet once more, the only sound the quiet squeak of screws being put back into place. He slowly began sitting himself up, carefully opening his eyes once more to see if he was going to be blinded by the harsh light.  
  
                  “First time actually changing one of those then?” Paul said quietly, and Oliver felt a jolt up his leg. He jumped, sitting bolt upright and looked down on his leg. Paul had cut his leg open right to the groin and had the cables changed and refitted in the time he’d been out cold. “Your leg should be working again properly. You’ve got a much sturdier nerve cable there but that leg needs to be replaced completely. You know Flake can get you a new one of those, right? And a better model? He can pretty much get his hands on anything you need. He’s quite good like that.” Paul spoke too much, and Oliver finally looked up at the man, seeing clearly what he looked like now. His voice didn’t fit his appearance in the slightest, and as far as his stature, he looked as though he’d not be able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag. He posed no real threat, so he could be disposed of easily. Oliver said nothing, noting the needle and thread on the side, ready for stitching up. He looked around the room, his hard drive picking up where all concealed weapons were, noting what he could use quickly if need be.  
  
                  “Flake managed to get us this massive fucking gun that we would never fucking need, but we have, and it’s been hidden somewhere only he knows, and it’s ju-…”  
  
                  “It’s down in the main hold.” Oliver said calmly, his sensors beeping as another person entered the room. He scanned the body as Till walked closer to him, but he stopped in his tracks, making it easier for Oliver to scan him.  
  
                  “Everything alright Olli?” Till asked, chewing on some bread he’d found and had made himself a quick sandwich with some meats he’d dug out from somewhere. “Sorted your eye then?” He asked, but there was no reply, just a blank stare. Oliver tilted his head to the side, assessing how much of a threat Till posed. A single gun and two knives were all he held on his person. No real threat there either.  
  
                  “He changed it himself, very carefully, and it seems to be working. The light is on in the back of it and from the way he’s looking around I’d say both eyes are fully functional now.” Paul said, carefully clicking the nerve cables back into place. “I was just telling him that Flake can get us some awesome upgrades on these computer pieces. Like, this leg weighs an absolute ton and I’m pretty certain it’s made out of ionized metal which means it’ll start to rust pretty soonish, especially if we end up on Antares, which is made of like ninety percent water.” Paul said, “There’s this new stuff you can get, that’s made out of a printed plastic, and it weighs nothing in comparison to this, and is a lot stronger.” He looked up, seeing Till’s worried expression. “What? What’s the matter?”   
  
                 “Did you switch him off?” Till asked, putting down the large hunk of bread he had in his hand. He looked over Paul carefully. Had he reset him purposely? Did Paul know enough about robot mechanisms to reprogram Oliver?  
  
                  “No, he replaced his eye and switched himself off because he had to reboot.” Paul said as he threaded the needle.  
  
                  “I think you need to leave.” Till said quietly, not removing his eyes from Oliver. “Go and tell the Cancari and the Antareans they need to hide until I tell you it’s safe. Okay?”  
  
                  “I’m not done with him yet,” Paul said indignantly. “His leg is still wide open!”   
  
                 “I don’t care, get out of here. _Now_ ,” Till warned one more time.  
  
                  Paul looked between Oliver and Till, trying to figure out what the reasoning behind it was. Perhaps Till was insistent on sewing Oliver’s leg back up but that was something better left to Paul. They had no reason to be so distrustful of him; he was only trying to help. He hoped they weren’t trying to plan an escape so soon, Oliver was still missing some vital parts. He decided to leave them to it but going off and hiding seemed stupid. He would warn the others as soon as he had a cup of borscht.  
  
                  “Oliver?” Till asked calmly, trying not to make any sudden movements. “Oliver, did you reboot?”  
  
                  “Yes,” he replied stiffly, surveying Till as he moved closer.  
  
                  Till was creeping at a steady pace, probably trying not to make any sudden movements. He had never seen Oliver so lifeless before and it was highly unnerving. “Are you all right?”  
  
                  Oliver tilted his head inquisitively, running through a systems check. “I appear to be in functional operating condition,” he replied. He flexed his hands experimentally before noting the exposed circuity in his leg. “Aside from this,” he said, gesturing at it.  
  
                  Till’s eyes snapped to Oliver’s leg then back to his newly replaced eyes. As of that moment, it seemed as if Paul tried to reset Oliver against his will and possibly succeeded. He tried to search the room inconspicuously, wondering where any other weapons might be. The fastest way to take Oliver out would be going for the mechanisms in his head probably. As much as he didn’t want to do it, his self-preservation instincts were stronger.  
  
                  There was a loud wirring coming from the back of Oliver’s open head. He seemed to be resetting everything. “What percentage is your reset at now, Oliver?”    
  
                “Currently at thirty three percent. Currently rebooting human sensors and language chips, which still appear to be broken. Assessing damage.” He fell silent again. “Translation chip is missing.” He said calmly, his voice monotonous. “Mainframe rebooting.”  
  
                 “Assess personality mainframe.” Till commanded, and Oliver frowned, tilting his head to the side. Till commanding him was uncommon, sensors alerting him to remain cautious.  
  
                  “Personality mainframe will be the last to reboot. Power is prioritized to maximize functionality. Basic needs must be fixed first before anything else.”  
  
                  “Are their any other people near by?” Till asked, stepping closer to the Cyborg.  
  
                  “One Antarean and one Human are hiding behind the wall. One has a large ray gun, the other is unarmed. The gun is currently not functioning. Would you like me to remove the threat?” He began sizing Till up, immediately strategizing the best way to take him out.  
  
                  “No, Christ no. What percentage is your reboot at now?”  
  
                  "Thirty six percent.” He was rebooting at a regular rate, that was good at least. Till waited a moment, watching the Cyborg for a while. Oliver looked around the room, his eye scanning every inch of walls and floors. “There are more beings on this vessel. Do they pose a threat to us?”  
  
                  “No, Oliver. No one on this ship is a threat.”  
  
                  “The concealed weapons about your person suggest that you may be a threat to me in my current vulnerable state.” Oliver stated plainly, looking his left arm. Till was well aware that Oliver’s entire body served as a weapon. He knew he was no match for anything that the cyborg possessed. He flexed his fingers experimentally, readying some sort of weaponry.  
  
                  “I am not a threat to you, Oliver. No need to remove me from here.”    
  
                “Please put your weapons on the ground and take a step back.” Oliver asked, frowning as he watched the older man do as he was told.  
  
                  “What percentage is your reboot?”  
  
                  “Forty five percent.”  
  
                  “At what percent do memories and personality reboot?”  
  
                  “Ninety percent.”  
  
                  He was only halfway there. Till waited for a moment, never taking his eyes from the younger man. They stared at one another in silence. He knew Oliver could crush him, but he trusted that as long as the cyborg was still cut open, he wouldn’t move. The assessment meant it’d cause more damage than anything else to get up and move while his leg was cut wide open.  
  
                  More whirring followed as he got to his feet. A few stray cables hung out of his leg, the oddly colored wires contrasting against his skin.  
  
                  "Oliver, please, you're going to injure yourself," Till pleaded as the cyborg advanced. His words fell on deaf ears as Oliver closed the distance between them.  
  
                  Till took a step backwards, anticipating an attack and ducked only to find Oliver's fist solidly connect with his gut. "Urgh," he said, sinking to his knees. He took the opportunity to yank the cables hanging out of Oliver's leg. As he did, he received another punch, this time to his face. Metal knuckles met skull, and unfortunately Till's skin wasn't thick enough. He felt blood trickling down his forehead.  
  
                  He immediately ducked out of the way of the low level repulsor blast from Oliver's hand, feeling the heat of it singe the ends of his hair. He heard a shout from behind them and Till turned his head to see one of the Antareans aiming a gun at Oliver. The dark haired one barked a command at Oliver but his translation was still offline, instead registering as a burbling mess of words. Till took advantage of this and swiped Oliver's feet from beneath him, bringing the cyborg crashing down.  
  
                  The Antarean rushed to Till's aide, lunging at Oliver and pinning his arms down. Oliver immediately headbutted the Antarean and shoved him off. The Antarean screamed in pain as he swung his fist blindly into Oliver's temple. He managed to knock Oliver back to the ground with a single hit which was highly impressive. The cyborg clutched at his leg, determined to recover as quickly as possible. Again the alien tackled Oliver, this time banging the cyborg's head against the ground in the process.  
  
                  "Reboot percentage," Till asked through gritted teeth.  
  
                  "Sixty eight," Oliver automatically replied. "I must dispose of the threats." He bucked his hips and threw the alien off him with force, sending him across the room. He hoisted himself to his feet and advanced on Till. The leg was visibly slowing him down but it hadn't stopped him yet. Till panicked, wondering if he would have to sever his connections completely like the prison guards not too long ago.  
  
                  He searched the room quickly, looking for some type of advantage when he noticed the gun the Antarean had brought a few feet away, sticking out from beneath a table unit. He moved for it, another blast whizzing past his head. He had to hold out for twenty two percent more. Reaching the gun, he hid behind the table, hearing two more blasts sizzle into the back of it. He assessed it quickly and upon finding it was jammed, he yanked the knife from its sheath just above his boot.  
  
                  A second later, he heard Oliver's metal hand crunch into the table and he twisted himself around and stabbed. Till managed to catch the robot's palm, anchoring it to the table with the blade. Oliver used his other hand to throttle Till's neck, quickly cutting off his air supply. He clawed at the hand to no avail, then attempted to disengage him by going for his arm. He began to gasp for air and frantically tried to break the cyborg's hold.  
  
                  The alien came from behind Oliver and put him in a headlock, trying to choke Oliver to stop him from choking Till.

                  Then something clicked, the whirring slowed, and Oliver’s face and grip relaxed.  
  
                  “What percentage is your reboot at?”  
  
                  “Can you stop asking me the same fucking questions? You’re so boring, Till. And can you get this alien off me?"  
  
                  He was back. Finally. Till slapped him across the head. “It’s safe to come out now.” Till called to the others. “He’s safe now.”  
     
                  “I must have rebooted?” Oliver asked. “Was it triggered by the eye?”  
  
                  “Yep,” called Paul, still hiding outside of the room in the darkness, “Never changed your eye before then?” he asked, stepping in cautiously as he eyed the room. "You all made a mess," he sighed. He edged toward them, not wanting to get to close to Oliver. He left a needle, thread, and translation chip on the now ruined table. “You can fix it up from here I suppose. We’ll be at Eros 403 soon. So just be ready for that. There’s a resistance meeting there and they’re expecting you there.”


	4. Chapter 4

                “I want you all to find as many involved in the Antarean uprising as soon as possible. Have you heard from any of the informants?”  
  
                “Only a few. Some from the outer systems, a few on Antares, and two currently travelling have reported back.”  
  
                 “And?” Her look was cold.  She stared down at them, her eyes darkened by the hair that hung over her forehead.  It looked as though she wasn’t fully concentrating on them, but on the battered creature that was curled at her feet.    
  
                 “M-mainly inconclusive.” The thing on the floor suddenly distracted the Sao soldier.  Was it even alive?  What was it?  “The travelers seem to be the most … uncooperative. An increasing demand for reassurance of their family members’ safety.”  
  
                 “And you told them?”  
  
                 “The standard response, ma’am.”  
  
                 “Very good. Anything else?” a cruel smile crept across her face.  
  
                 “We’ve captured some Antareans.”  
  
                 “That’s a shame.  You’re dismissed.”  
  
                 “Thank you ma’am.”  
  
                 “Oh, and Apollo?”  
  
                 “Yes ma’am?” The Sao turned back to her and looked up, seeing her yank the chain around the thing’s throat, a guttural cry coming from its body.  
  
                 “I do not wish to be disturbed until we reach our destination.”  
  
                 “As you wish ma’am.”  
  
                The door slid shut behind the large Sao alien, leaving her alone in her quarters. She slinked into her private room, locked the door, and pulled a small vial off a nearby counter. She tilted her head back, squeezing a small amount of green liquid into her tear ducts. A pair of translucent lids disappeared as quickly as they appeared and she sighed in relief. Adapting to the living conditions of the Sao was irritating but necessary to keep them pacified.  After this was all over, she could dispose of them somehow anyways. Perhaps by turning them against each other. It was easy enough; they turned ranks against each other constantly. Which was detrimental to keeping an army in place … but they wouldn’t be needed for much longer  
  
                She rubbed at her neck, feeling the gills beneath her fingers starting to dry out from the heat. It couldn’t come soon enough.  
  
               The Sao alien trudged down the corridors of the ship, making its way back to the drier quarters specially constructed for them. Sounds of a vicious argument could be heard echoing down the hallway. The alien rolled their eyes as they made their way into the room and seized the nearest gun. They fired at the ceiling twice, warning shots as a reminder of who was the alpha. “I don’t want to hear it,” the alien barked at the others.  
  
                 “But they said-“  
  
                Another round was fired, this time neatly embedded in a hip.  
  
                 “I don’t care what they said, you open your mouth again and the next one’s going to be in your brain,” the alpha alien threatened.  
  
                The smaller alien deferred to the alpha, hobbling away to tend to their wound.

**[***]**

                They walked into the darkened room, a video playing on the single screen on the wall.  It was what they already knew.  It only confirmed what they already knew.  They needed to talk about this, a counter attack.  Or counter execution, that is. The resistance needed to do something.  They needed to show they still supported the people and weren’t hiding.  
  
                As they entered, Flake caught Paul by the arm.    
  
                “We need to go, we’ve got some things to buy.” He smiled while speaking quietly, and Paul nodded.  “We’ll make our robot strong again, it’ll be a nice surprise!”  
  
                Flake pondered when Paul had grown attached enough to anyone to claim them. "Our robot? I was not aware he belonged to us," Flake said, eyebrow quirked up in surprise. It was the most human expression he had ever seen the Antarean wear.  
  
                "Of course he doesn't!" Paul sputtered. "You know what I meant,  let's go," he sighed, sparing a glance to see if the others overheard him.  
  
                The two left the other four, and walked out into the open. The atmosphere felt different to earth, the air hanging heavy with pollution. Paul missed Earth, his home, and wanted so badly to find something in that market that’d make him feel decidedly less homesick. Perhaps he could get his hands on some more potatoes.  
  
                “We need to find some robot parts.”  Flake said softly, eyeing up some stalls as they walked through the crowded streets.  “Oliver will need proper upgrading, and you’re going to help me do it.  He seems to trust you more than the rest of us.”  
  
                “How do you know that?”  Paul laughed, “We’ve literally had them in our presence for like two days.”  
  
                “You really have to stop referring to time by earth days, Paul.  It’s not appropriate anymore.” Flake admonished, frowning.  “He never lets another person touch him.  That’s why he’s falling apart.  He cannot fix himself properly, but he let you do it.  Fascinating. May I remind you that you referred to him as our robot a few minutes ago?"  
  
                Paul watched the other for a moment, unsure of the meaning behind what Flake had told him.    
  
                “What do you mean ‘fascinating’?” he asked, stopping a moment, pointing into a shop.  “What about here?”  
  
                “No, it’s too expensive here.  I know we can get better things for cheaper.”  
  
                “Okay, but what did you mean by ‘fascinating’?” he asked again, just in case he hadn’t been heard.  
  
                “Hmm, yes I heard you the first time.” He said softly, stopping abruptly to stare down into a pile of robotic legs in a nearby storefront.  “I’m just deciding whether it’s safe to discuss such matters here.”    
  
                “Oh.”  Paul frowned, looking around at the head-plate coverings. Surely no one was following them on as desolate a planet as this one.  
  
                “I used to work in the program that created Oliver.”  Flake began as they started walking again, certain they were safe.  “I left prior to the living experimentation, because for me, the ethics weren’t right.  They weren’t concerned with the mental wellbeing and stability of their creations, only that they could create, and that didn’t sit well with me," he explained, recalling the grotesque science he witnessed. "But Oliver was fascinating.”  He added, carrying on.  “I remember hearing about him.  He was just wonderful, a real advancement in the cybernetics industry.  The problem with him was that he was never very complicit.  He didn’t want to conform or become a part of the program.  A load of government assignments and faceless missions. So, while being one of their top bots, he never did as he was told properly, until he finally went rogue and was picked up by the Bounty Hunter.”  
  
                “Bounty hunters?” Paul questioned, dropping the motherboards in his hands.    
  
                "Be careful with those." Flake frowned, pointing to the boards on the ground. "The Bounty Hunter, singular. Till, sorry.  Till.” Flake clarified, sifting through a box of joints.  
  
                “So you never took part in the cyborg creation stuff?” Paul felt wary; realizing he still didn't know much about the two brothers' pasts aside from the brief history lesson he had received about Antares. He knew they were fleeing from the government, but what was the entire story? He felt as if he were still missing key components of their story.  
  
                “No. The difference between robotics and cybernetics is the introduction of living tissue. Bringing the two together, and if they had been ethical about it, I’d have probably been okay with it. But they weren’t. You should have seen how those poor creatures suffered.” He stopped himself, looking back at Paul. “You have to understand I had nothing to do with it.” A frown crossed his face and he took a step forward. “The Antareans at the hand of the project are the reason I joined the rebellion in the first place.  I hope that’s clear to you, Earthling.”    
  
                “It’s Paul,” he frowned as he stared up at the taller man.    
  
                “She was a worrying one though,” Flake continued, ignoring Paul’s expression as he reminisced. “I remember one of the scientists working on her voicing their concerns to me once I’d left the profession. They’d been warned not to use Antareans. We’re a delicate race, we’re basically fish and we cannot adapt as well as others. Our genetic make up is far from the complexities of human DNA, and as a consequence we aren’t made for genetic mutations. There’ve been no significant mutations in our race for a very long time.”  He stopped once more, picking up some heavy copper cables.    
  
                “Do we need those?” Paul asked.  
  
                “Oh yes.” Flake nodded, picking up five of the longest cables. “Can you ask them how much please?”  
  
               He looked at the alien behind the stall and frowned, uncertain of what type of creature it was. “How much?” he tried in English first. It always surprised him, even though Earth no longer existed, and humans were mostly wiped out, that English was the most universal language. The alien grunted and made some vague gesture towards a board at the end of the table, covered in prices, and Paul smiled, “There you go.”  
  
               “Ah, thank you.” Flake offered a smile and handed over some gold coins, and the cables were wrapped and handed back. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. They ignored our advice about Antareans and cybernetics and ripped a few from children’s homes and continued anyway. Most were the lesser off, as if that helped matters. Most died, but she survived. I remember hearing about her stre-…”  
  
               “Children’s homes?” Paul interrupted, feeling utterly sick at the thought. “They tested on parentless children?”  
  
               Flake sighed with great annoyance at being interrupted. “Yes. Everyone. The poor were targeted, no one misses the homeless and such. From the children's homes, she was the oldest at seventeen. That probably goes to explaining why she was so strong. And she was strong, Paul, I mean, terrifyingly so.”  They walked to the next stall, looking through the eyes, and chips and plates.  It was all very cheap, so probably all stolen.    
  
               “So she’s stronger than Oliver?” Paul asked, picking up a perspex head plate. Oliver needed a new one; a lighter, transparent one to make it easier to see what was broken.  
  
               “I’d say so. And smarter too.” Flake nodded, handing over some money for the plate and some weaponry systems. “But she didn’t want to exceed expectations. She didn’t want to be a cyborg in the first place. I think she only continued to exist out of spite. Her body rejected far more than his did, and I mean really reject it. She almost died many times.”  
  
               “Wow, she sounds pretty hardcore.” Paul added, browsing through some of the different pieces of metal.  
  
               “I remember they brought me in secretly, without the head of the project knowing, to try and aid her, and stop her suffering so much.”  Flake carried on, “There wasn’t much of that girl left, really, that they hadn’t ruined.  She was in a great deal of pain, emotionally and physically.”  He stopped then, looking at the ground. “I should have done what I thought was right at the time and killed her.”  He said in a very small voice.  “I thought it might have been the kindest thing to do for her… to just, end her suffering there and then.  Because that’s what she wanted, I could see it in her eyes, Paul, and I wished I’d have done it.” He shook his head and turned away.    
  
               “Flake, it isn’t your fault.”  
  
               “I want you to understand, Paul, I couldn’t bring myself to take a fellow Antarean’s life. But I should have. Because what they did to her after was far worse.” He stopped himself once more, paying for the final bits in his hands. “I’ve said too much already, Earthling. Let’s head back to the ship to fix him up.” Flake offered a smile, but there was no soul behind it. “We’ve got all we need. He’ll be better now. Much lighter, much more durable. He’ll withstand a lot more now.” Flake nodded, heading in the direction of their ship, not waiting to see if Paul would follow.  
  
                What the Antarean had endured sounded horrific. He thought about the parts they had bought for Oliver. What would they really have to withstand? What had Oliver been forced to withstand while he was experimented on? As Oliver was, he was finding hard enough to believe someone so stubborn about taking care of themselves had managed to survive this far out into the galaxy. Or maybe Oliver had worse testing inflicted on him. Either one made him feel a sort of fondness towards the cyborg, hoping he would get a peaceful recovery. He felt a bit nauseous at the idea of forcing technology to adapt into someone else's skin. He could understand why the cyborg was so defensive of himself now. He wanted to know more about what Flake had seen but the Antarean had already ended the conversation.  
  
                When they reached the ship, the others were already there, looking very sullen. Richard took the opportunity to leave once Flake and Paul returned, heading away from them to his own quarters.    
  
                “Poor guy.” Till commented, sighing softly.  
  
                “What? What’s happened?” Paul questioned, helping Flake unload their purchases onto the ship.    
  
                “Another seven killed.” Oliver said quietly, chewing his bottom lip. “One human, two Antareans and four Cancrii.” His sigh was heavy and worn out, unable to comprehend what was happening in their lifetime.    
  
                “Four Cancrii?  Jesus are there any of them lef-…” Paul stopped himself, looking to where Richard had walked to. “Oh my God.  That poor man.”  
  
                “I haven’t worked out whether he knew any of them yet. He’s not spoken since we left.” Oliver said quietly, looking over to see Schneider explaining the same thing to Flake, the look of horror on his face evident. Paul understood that guilt that Flake was carrying. He wanted to go over and console him, but felt as though that might have been intruding on something incredibly personal. Antareans were killed too, they might have been known to the two on their ship.  
  
                “What a shit show, eh?” Till commented, getting to his feet. “Oliver, is your translation chip working properly yet?” he asked, hanging a gun in the holster on his trousers.  
  
                “Not yet, but hopefully soon. I’ve just got to click it back into place.” Oliver smiled weakly up at the older man, grateful for the presence of at least one other human being.    
  
                “Then get it up and running. We need to speak to the Cancrii,” Till added, frowning at the pair of them.  
  
                “Till, I’ve got this.” Oliver got to his feet.  
  
                “It’s okay, I can help..." Paul offered but stopped short at the glare Till threw him. Paul shrank back, then headed away from everyone else, leaving the others behind to chat amongst themselves. A few moments later, he heard footsteps following him to the hold. He flinched involuntarily, until he realized lighting was being reflected on the walls around him. Oliver's circuits. Flake’s words rang in the back of Paul’s mind as he reached the hold and sat down. Did Oliver really trust him? Did he really feel as though he could let Paul touch him and repair his broken body?  
  
                “Seven were killed in a very public execution.” Oliver started, shaking his head. “Richard didn’t say anything after we’d seen the video but no one wanted to speak. He’s already lost so much.” Oliver pulled Paul back to reality, “I can’t believe she did it.” Oliver sighed softly, wiping his face.  
  
                “Flake was telling me about her.” Paul said softly as he turned around, “He said she wasn’t right from the start.”  
  
                “How does Flake know about her?” asked Oliver, frowning, as he sat down next to Paul.  
  
                “He used to work for the company before they began their cybernetics program. He’s actually super into robotics, you know? He used to just sit in a lab and make robots. He didn’t like the move to Cybernetics because it was unethical so he left.” Paul explained. “But he knew people in the company on the Antarean branch of the company and knew about her procedures and stuff. They sounded savage.”  
  
                This did nothing to calm Oliver, though he felt a lot less like killing him now.  
  
                “But we went to the market place and bought a load of stuff to help upgrade you!” Paul beamed, getting to his feet and making his way to some of the things him and Flake had bought. “We got these wonderful cables and things which are more durable than the ones you’ve got already, and we bought a new cyborg leg which we can fit and it’s like five times lighter than the one you have, and we bought you a new translation chip, and also we bought you a clear head plate, made of really durable Perspex.  Oliver, I’m actually so excited!”  He grinned as he continued to speak. “We also got some weaponry but that’s not as exciting as the other stuff we bought you, let me go and get it!” He disappeared out the small door, chattering to himself as he went.   
  
                Oliver felt the anger in him dissipating with Paul’s infectious happiness. He could be fully functional again, and more importantly he could solve the issue of communicating with the Cancrii.  
  
                Could he really let Paul repair him like he needed? He examined the remnants of the stitchwork that ran along his hip, skin knitting over as it healed. The scar was thin and fairly short unlike some of the others that decorated various areas of his body. Those scars were earned under much more strenuous circumstances however, a far cry from the almost cozy quarters of this particular ship. So far, Paul hadn't sabotaged him in any way and had only seemingly  _good_  intentions towards the cyborg. Oliver felt a strange pang in his chest at the thought of that; realizing that Paul was the only person to have repaired him in quite some time, and out of compassion. From the other side of the door, Paul could be heard muttering under his breath about which lotions would prevent his prosthetic from chafing. He blinked in surprise, wondering how someone like him had ended up travelling with people like Till and himself. But then again, all sorts of people joined the rebellion.

                The translation chip would be a simple enough repair and was fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but this would be the third that Paul had performed. He had more than ample opportunity to fiddle with Oliver's hardware, including when he was unconscious, but Till had informed him of Paul's reluctance to proceed while Oliver was still incapacitated. It wasn't much, but he felt he could trust Paul to fix minor issues. He could do this, Oliver reassured himself, trying not to panic while he thought about Paul having to open up his head again.

                But it was never unpleasant with Paul, only feather light touches and nimble fingers working quickly to complete a task. He tugged his shirt back down and heaved a sigh, pushing the door open and stepping into the room again. Paul was combing at his hair with his fingers, to no avail it seemed, as his hair was sticking out in every direction. He stifled a laugh, previous anxiety dulled by the sight of Paul's sunny grin. Paul was nowhere near as cruel as the 'scientists' who worked on him, that had to be why he felt so relaxed around the smaller man.  _But you really shouldn't be_ , a small voice in the back of his head nagged. But he could ignore it; at least he thought he could.

                "I'm going to need the translation chip fixed," he said softly, dropping his gaze to the floor. His voice was small, feeling shame wash over him for having to ask for help again in such a short period of time. He cursed his parts for being so faulty, he wouldn't be able to sustain himself in action if he kept up at the rate he was disintegrating at. Oliver heard a clattering of metal as Paul began sifting through the box he brought along with him, careful to make sure he hadn't dropped anything in his haste to catch the cyborg. He was oblivious to Oliver as he squinted at three similar chips, pointing at one indecisively.

                "The issue is, I'm not sure which chip has what languages on it. I know one's only a patch chip so, but then Flake picked up another with a lot more on it, I think.” He held the two up, finally looking up at Oliver with the chips held out for Oliver to look at. “I can’t tell the difference, can you?”  
  
                 “This one.” Oliver picked up the delicate piece and placed it down gently into Paul’s other hand. “It’s not the top of the line one, but I recognize the company. They have the biggest language database, I seem to remember,” He paused, shuddering as a horrible memory fed its way through his body. “I’m sure if Flake worked on this before then he’s know where to download more languages if we don’t have the ones we need.”  
  
                 “Okay,” Paul nodded, placing the others back into the boxes. “Do you just want me to watch and make sure you do-…”  
  
                “I need you to do it for me.”  
  
                Paul nearly lost his grip on the box he was holding, was Oliver serious? How did Flake figure him out so fast?  
  
                “I just need it fitted properly and you’re the least likely to fuck it up. Don’t tell Till.”  Oliver continued.  “Do you know what you’re doing?”  
  
                “Yes. I do. Just sit down so I can get to your head.” Paul laughed.   
  
                Oliver took a seat and Paul walked up behind him. Oliver felt a little apprehensive about his decision. Was he really okay with someone else touching what was essentially his brain? “The last time you changed something in me, I rebooted and almost killed all of you. Are we going to be okay this time?” He heard the sound of latex gloves being put onto hands and felt a little better. At least no germs were going to get inside his head.   
  
                “We should be fine, Oliver. I’ve never known a chip to reboot _anything_. An eye, a mother board, definitely; those are real important pieces of equipment in building a cyborg. But a chip for translating, not at all.” Paul smiled, scooting closer to Oliver. He could feel the closeness of Paul’s body to his as the smaller man peered inside the system in the back of Oliver’s head. They were dead silent, both of them, which served to making Oliver conscious of how much noise his body actually made. Normal human bodies didn’t do that, they just sat silently.   
  
                 “Oh! Before I forget!” Paul exclaimed, and the stark contrast to their silence made Oliver nearly jump out of his skin. He watched Paul disappear behind the door once more and return carrying a piece of Perspex. “I bought you a new head plate. It’s so much stronger than what you had before, and Perspex, so no one has to open your head up to see what’s wrong. Less risk!” Paul grinned, taking a seat once more. “I’ll fit it once I’ve done the chip, okay?” He seemed so proud of himself for this, and that enthusiasm was infectious, bringing a small smile to Oliver’s lips for a brief moment.  
  
                “Okay.” Oliver said quietly, closing his eyes. His entire life sat inside that motherboard, and if anything went wrong, that’d be it; he’d be gone forever. “Please be careful," he said softly. More than the motherboard, what was left of the brain he’d been born with sat just behind the circuitry, and there was a large risk in damaging that with the soldering iron if his hand jerked even a little.   
  
                “I will, don’t worry.” Paul was very quiet, and that didn’t feel right. Maybe his concentration required him to be silent? Maybe he was doing something bad? Maybe he was fucking up? Why was Oliver’s body being louder than normal at that moment, when Paul needed optimal concentration?  
  
                “Why are you so quiet?” Oliver asked finally, unable to handle the silence any longer. He felt Paul sigh before he moved away. He looked around to see Paul holding a soldering iron in one hand, the cracked plate of his head laying in his lap, and the translation chip held in between some tweezers in the other hand.  
  
                “I need to concentrate, you idiot. Sit still and shut up.” Paul frowned. He repositioned the chip in the tweezers and Oliver turned back around, feeling the weight of Paul’s forearms against his shoulders. He could feel the heat of the soldering iron inside his head, and tried to keep calm. “The solder will make sure this never comes off.” He felt it click into place, and then the heat of the metal melting to keep it there. “It won’t come out again. No matter how much we punch you in the head.” Paul moved slightly, placing the soldering iron down and turned back, his fingers gently pressing on the chip to make sure it was in place. Oliver became aware of the weight of Paul’s other hand on his shoulder, and how the skin felt against his. It had been a long time since someone had touched Oliver in such a delicate way.  He couldn’t complain.  
  
                The plate clicked perfectly into place, and it felt so much lighter than the previous one. He got to his feet and looked down at Paul. “Thank you," he said softly, watching the other remove his gloves, a smile on his face. “I’m sorry my body is so noisy.  I hope it didn’t distract you.” Oliver let out a small laugh to combat the embarrassment he felt at his own circuitry.   
  
                “I actually find those noises really reassuring.” Paul commented, looking over the wiring they’d bought.   
  
                “Really?  I hate them.” Oliver commented, running a hand over the plate on the back of his head. It felt so much lighter than the hunk of metal that’d cracked, weighing him down. He felt like he could stand up straighter.   
  
                “Those noises mean you’re alive.” Paul smiled, placing a hand against Oliver’s chest, feeling the whirring of circuits pumping his blood around the taller man’s body. “They mean you’re here, in the present with us and everything is in working order.”  
  
                Oliver stared at the other for a moment, the thought processing through his mind. “I’ve never thought about it like that before," he admitted, looking down to his feet. “I’ve always thought they were an inconvenient noise, something to give away my position.”   
  
                “Well, when we’ve done upgrading you, Oliver, you’ll be running a lot quieter, but the sounds will still be there.” He looked up, “I love those sounds.”  
  
                Paul then stepped away and said something in a language that wasn’t German.  It took a moment, but the language flashed up for Oliver in his eye, telling him the man was speaking Antarean.   
  
                “Did you get that?” Paul asked, packing away the iron.  
  
                “It recognized what you said, but… I didn’t translate it.”  
  
                Paul repeated himself. It flashed up once more with Antarean and this time he understood. “Go and speak to Richard?” Oliver repeated. “Oh shit, right! Richard, the whole point of this! Thank you Paul!” he laughed. “Okay! Thank you!”  
  
                He turned and left the room, unable to stop touching the smooth Perspex on his head, feeling the connection between his vocal circuitry and the translation chip firing up. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Paul’s words.   
  
                 _Those noises mean you’re alive._  
  
                He placed a hand on his chest and felt the heart he still had pumping the mechanics inside his chest. Yes, he was alive and he was here.

**Author's Note:**

> So we wrote a fic together!


End file.
